


Super Trooper

by itslikeorange



Category: South Park
Genre: Cartman is a Rock God, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kyle is the Schedule King, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11432883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslikeorange/pseuds/itslikeorange
Summary: 'Just as Cartman took up the mic in front of a crowd of thousands without a shiver or a thought, Kyle revelled in the details, unrivalled in his skill to put on an arena tour that would deliver on entertainment to an ever more demanding crowd and still make him and Cartman very, very rich. He was good at his job, the best even.Then why did his stomach hurt?'Title taken from the Abba song of the same name coz I'm a sap.





	Super Trooper

It was times like this that Kyle realised he loved his job. The roar of the crowd, the electric atmosphere, the knowledge that _he_ had made all this happen.

Sure, it wasn’t how he thought his life would pan out but, in the moments where he allowed himself to be brutally honest with himself, he could admit that it wasn’t exactly a surprise. How many times had they done this as kids? Cartman fronting some crazy scheme and him pulling up the rear, organising and directing and enabling it to happen. This one wasn’t even that crazy; Cartman was born to be on stage. He had had a few stabs at fame over the years but it was with Kyle’s help that this time it had actually stuck.

And boy had it stuck.

Three double platinum albums, appearances on James Corden and a host of other prime time shows, and now a sell out tour culminating in the big one; Madison Square Gardens.

The thought of which still had Kyle breaking out in a nervous sweat. It was just over a week until the epic finale to what had been a mad six months and Kyle was sure everything was in place. This didn’t stop him compulsively checking and rechecking his phone to make sure there were no nasty surprise emails. The schedule for the evening actually had a _coffee stain_ on it. It pained him slipping it back into its pristine folder after re-reading the schedule he now knew by heart, but he couldn’t bring himself to print it off again. What if something got missed off?

Kyle could admit, if just to himself, that maybe, just maybe, he was a teeny, tiny bit apprehensive about this one. The idea was alien to him. Just as Cartman took up the mic in front of a crowd of thousands without a shiver or a thought, Kyle revelled in the details, unrivalled in his skill to put on an arena tour that would deliver on entertainment to an ever more demanding crowd and still make him and Cartman very, very rich. He was good at his job, the best even.

Then why did his stomach hurt?

Kyle pushed away the thought, popping two advill as the last set ended and preparing himself for the arduous task of directing the pack down of a stadium’s worth of kit in the allotted two hours before their host kicked them out and they were on the road again.

The screams and shouts rose to a crescendo, keeping up their chanting even as Cartman left the stage. He found Kyle immediately and strutted towards him with a wide grin.

‘I’m on fire tonight Jew. They’ll be mopping the seats after all those wet panties.’

Kyle rolled his eyes. The scale of Cartman’s success was only rivalled by his ego. ‘Please, everyone knows Germain is an easy crowd.’

‘Whatever Jewboy, you just go count those dollars and _then_ tell me how awesome I was.’

Cartman was right, the arena was sold out but Kyle wasn’t about to tell him that.

‘We’ll see in two days once you’ve played Carolina, then I’ll give you your pat on the back.’

‘And a double chocolate fudge brownie sundae?’ Cartman quipped, batting his eyelashes and Kyle couldn’t help the tug of a smile.

‘And a double chocolate fudge brownie sundae, you fucking diva.’

Cartman beamed. ‘Sweet. That’s a deal, no backing out. I know what you Jews are like for reneging on deals.’ He added, wagging his finger. Kyle threw him an unimpressed look but Cartman just continued on. ‘I know this amazing ice cream parlour up on 5th, you’ll fucking die I swear.’

Kyle had no doubt, most likely from the sugar high alone.

‘We’re ready, Boss.’ Brian, the head of security said, appearing at Kyle’s side and it was back to business.

‘Ok, 60 minutes with the crowd and then we gotta roll. Ok Cartman?’ Kyle said pointedly.

Cartman’s smile fell into a pout. ‘That’s not long.’

‘Well it’s as long as we have to feed your ego tonight I’m afraid so.’ Kyle replied brusquely.

They could actually afford a little longer, but he knew what Cartman was like once he got among his adoring fans. It would take a good 45 mins to prize him away from all the fawning and flattery, just in time to get on the bus and on their way.

‘Ey!’ Cartman objected but Kyle’s attention was already on the Gaffer who had just approached with an update on the de-rig and when Kyle turned back, Cartman had thankfully left to make the most of the allotted time.

True to form, 90 minutes later found Kyle stood in front of Cartman’s dressing room.

‘Cartman!’ He shouted, pounding on the door. ‘Get your fat ass out here. We gotta go!’

Butters hovered at his elbow, shifting nervously from foot to foot as he always did whenever Kyle or Cartman were riled up. Which was most of the time. Kyle had had no idea why Butters put up with being bossed about by Cartman when they were kids, and he still didn’t know now that Cartman bossed him around as an adult. Butters was Cartman’s PA, brought on board when Kyle made it crystal clear that he was Cartman’s Manager, not his bitch. To be honest, even though Kyle had no idea why Butters took the job, he thanked God every day that he did. Butters had an uncanny knack for pleasing people, whether that was catering to Cartman’s various whims or buttering up a group of record producers. A skill that was worth its weight in gold in this industry.

Especially when dealing with rock star man children, Kyle thought darkly. Raising his fist to bang again.

There was a pause as the giggling inside subsided and an even longer one before the door finally opened with Cartman stood there in all his glory. Kyle stepped back, keeping his gaze firmly above the broad expanse of flesh whilst fixing his face into a scowl.

It wasn’t that Cartman was unattractive. Far from it. Thousands of fans attested to it every week and the steady stream of girls and guys who made it backstage added their screams of approval from behind the dressing room door. Cartman had been fortunate enough to take after his mother in the looks department and performing 3 times a week had kept his physique on the beefcake side of overweight.

Kyle wasn’t sure when exactly his brain had decided to take their 23 year old feud and turn it into some kind of doomed romance, but he remembered the moment three years ago when he had banged on a door just like this one, albeit in a somewhat smaller venue, and thrown it open to reveal Cartman with one of his groupies bent over the dressing table. The wave of hot jealousy that had crashed over Kyle had been so consuming that for a few seconds, all he could do was stare at the powerful hips snapping against the other man as he begged for more, before he came to his senses and fled the room.

Later of course, Cartman called him a tight ass prude and Kyle was fine with letting him think that. The other option was just too mortifying.

Cartman leaned against the doorframe in the here and now, his mouth twisting up into a smirk as those strikingly blue eyes took in the blush on Kyle’s cheeks. Kyle silently cursed his pale skin.

‘Get dressed. You’ve got five minutes until we leave.’ He was unable to stop himself from snapping.

‘Yeh, yeh, we’re done anyway.’ Cartman said, waving a girl past who was still pulling on the last of her clothing even as he herded her out the door.

Kyle frowned. The girl looked vaguely familiar. Long blonde hair escaping in strands from its pony tail, fair skin and a girl next door smile. She was younger, but only by a few years.

‘Gosh Eric, this was so amazing. My friends are going to be crazy jealous when I tell them about us.’

Cartman obviously didn’t recognise her, judging by his indifferent look.

‘Yes it’s true I’m awesome, but the Jew and his mighty clipboard have spoken. Our time together has come to an end, Sapphire –‘

‘Ruby.’ She corrected and that’s when it hits Kyle. Ruby Tucker. Craig Tucker’s sister. What are the fucking _odds_?

God has a twisted sense of humour.

‘Ruby. This is a night I’ll never forget, yadda yadda. Kyle will show you out.’

Normally, Kyle would bristle under such an order but right now his mind was running through all the possible PR clusterfucks that could arise from Cartman having added Craig Fucking Tucker’s sister as another notch on his bedpost. Craig Fucking Tucker, who was a successful photographer for National Geographic, Vogue and most importantly right now, the _New York Times._

‘Oh um, I think it would be better if I rode with you. My friends left for the next tour stop earlier when I told them I was going backstage.’ Ruby said, smiling sweetly and pushing a stray hair behind her ear.

Oh even better. She was one of those groupies; the crazy ones that follow around the tour bus and swear their undying love. And now Cartman was about to break her heart.

‘Sorry honey, I’m married to my work. There’s taxis out front but we really gotta be making tracks.’ Cartman said, pulling on his shirt.

A faint frown crossed Ruby’s face. ‘But… I came all this way. I thought…’

‘ _Cartman_ ,’ Kyle warned through gritted teeth, willing him to understand the situation. God knows he usually didn’t have trouble picking up on Kyle’s discomfort, usually when he didn’t want him to. But today he was either oblivious or just didn’t care. It made Kyle’s blood pressure go from 0 to 60 in five seconds flat, which in turn made him wonder what else on his body Cartman could rev up from 0 to 60 in five seconds flat.

Shutting down that destructive train of thought and turning back to the disaster in progress, Kyle put on his most sympathetic expression to face Ruby.

‘Sorry Ruby, he’s a dick when he’s tired and it’s been a long night for everyone. I’ll take you home.’

‘The fuck Jew?’ Cartman piped up immediately, crossing his arms like a child on the verge on a tantrum. ‘You’ll miss the show!’

‘I’m sure Butters can handle it for one night, Carolina is a pretty straight forward set up.’

‘Oh gee, I don’t know Kyle.’ Butters stammered and Kyle ran a palm over his face, wishing God would forget he hated him for just five minutes.

‘You’ll be fine.’ He managed not to choke on the lie but this was more important.

‘It will not ‘be fine’ Kyle. It’s the last big show before Maddison Square Gardens and I’m not having it fucked up just to please some air headed bint.’ Cartman snapped.

‘Hey!’ Ruby protested. ‘What the fuck is your problem?!’

‘My problem is that you are still here.’ Cartman deadpanned at her and Kyle groaned.

‘You fucking asshole!’ Ruby said, clenching her fists. ‘I thought we really connected tonight but I should have known, you’re just another man whore, rock star wannabe!’

Cartman raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down. ‘Bitch please, your legs spread faster than ebola. I’m surprised your panties don’t get travel sick from all that running up and down.’

‘Argh! You’re pathetic!’ Ruby cried, incensed. ‘Everyone might love you now but one day you’re gonna wake up and realise you’re all alone because you’re a washed up has bean and no one can actually stand you!’ She spat.

‘Hey, screw you bitch! Oh wait, I already did.’ Cartman taunted and Kyle stepped swiftly in between them as Ruby surged forward.

‘Whoa! Cartman, shut the fuck up and get on the god damn bus. Ruby, I’m so sorry. I’ll take you home.’

‘Kyle!’ Cartman protested, but stepped back at Kyle’s warning stare.

‘Fine.’ Cartman huffed. ‘And when the band has no music and the fucking ceiling caves in, on your head be it Jew.’ He said, stomping off.

‘Fuck you!’ Ruby shouted after him.

‘I’ll take her, Kyle. Eric will be mighty upset if you miss the show.’ Butters piped up, wringing his hands, evidently upset by the confrontation.

‘Eric,’ Kyle mimicked sarcastically, ‘only gives a shit if he doesn’t have anyone there to mock for his own entertainment.’

‘Nah, who would he sing to?’ Butters said with a soppy smile and Kyle fought a wince. Cartman had been serenading him with love songs since they were 8 years old and not one of those times had been sincere. It had been easier when they first started out and Kyle could respond with annoyance or anger or the middle finger. Then came the ‘revelation’ and after that, it was just painful.

Just once, he had allowed himself to go along with it. To imagine that it wasn’t all an act, that he was the one person to whom Cartman meant every word… but over hearing Cartman’s latest conquest’s screams later that night had brought him back to reality with a gut wrenching jolt. No. Kyle wasn’t under any illusions. Cartman and him was about as likely as finding ManBearPig. The best way to deal with it was to ignore it and hope that the crushing ache in his chest from each tenderly sung word wasn’t visible on his face. Christ, he’d never hear the end of it if Cartman ever found out.

Kyle sighed, promising himself for the thousandth time that once this tour was over and they were back in the recording studio, he would make a real effort to cultivate a life outside of Cartman’s bubble. Take a trip to see his family, his brother in New York who he hadn’t seen in months, Stan who skyped a week ago to show off his first born child – a little girl called Lily, actually go on a date without having to check his email whilst the guy was in the john. All the things that ensured that when this was all over and the crazy whirlwind of success had died down to an inevitable whisp and Cartman ditched them for his next venture, or to live the life of luxury of a washed up rock star, or whatever the fuck else he was going to do, that Kyle wouldn’t end up alone.

‘Ok.’ Kyle conceded. ‘I’m sorry again, Ruby.’ He called after her as she was already stalking out to the car park. She flipped him off over her shoulder just as Butters caught up to her. Yep, Kyle thought, definitely Craig Tucker’s sister.

He swallowed the sense of foreboding that was not helping the churning in his stomach.

Thank fuck the next day was a travel day. Kyle spent the majority of it curled up at the table in the Winnebago, balancing his laptop precariously on his knees and trying not to drip sweat from his fevered brow onto the keyboard.

Cartman sat opposite him, idly plucking random notes on his guitar and stopping occasionally to write down some lyrics. His good mood had returned the moment Kyle had boarded the bus the night before and he had realised he had got his own way.

‘You ok, Kyle? You look like shit.’ He paused to ask with a concerned look that Kyle was sure must be a hallucination of his fevered mind.

‘I’m fine.’ Kyle replied tersely and Cartman shrugged, going back to his composing.

‘Whatever, just don’t hurl over my song sheets.’

Kyle ignored him, worried that if he opened his mouth, he might do just that and as soon as he had responded to the essential emails, he put the laptop away, resting his head on the cool window and letting the soothing strum of Cartman’s guitar wash over him.

He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew they had arrived in Carolina and Cartman was shaking him awake. Kyle groaned, groggy from a fitful sleep and the dull ache in both his head and his abdomen. After a painfully complicated check in which it took at his energy stop eviscerating the receptionist with his tongue, he made it to his room, curling up in the bed without even undressing and sending a quick prayer to God to keep whatever bug he’d contracted at bay until after Madison Square Gardens.

Unfortunately, it seemed God was still pissed at him.

Kyle was woken at 8am by his cell ringing persistently in his ear. He dragged himself upright, jerking himself out of his sleep haze when he realised that the reporter for the Colorado Times was on the phone. After tersely if truthfully, since he legitimately didn’t know what the fuck was going on, informing the guy that he had no comment, Kyle ended the call and pulled up the news to see what shit storm this day would bring.

Well he had to hand it to Ruby, 48hrs to print even by press standards was fast work and this morning every major newspaper carried the headline ‘LIKE MOTHER LIKE SON’, carrying the details of the worst of Cartman’s, and his Mother’s, extensive exploits. The articles were brutal. It seems no sordid detail had been left out, no dirty mattress unturned. Ruby apparently, had gone in for the kill.

Kyle tipped his head back and groaned, cursing Cartman and his big fat mouth. This could not have come at a worse time. With a show tomorrow then just three days to Square Gardens, the media storm would have barely abated by the time they touched down in New York.

Well, laying in bed wasn’t going to fix anything. With a snort of frustration, Kyle threw back the covers and went into the hotel’s en suite bathroom. Allowing himself a few minutes to wash off the grime of the day before before facing the hell that was sure to be today.

He looked at himself in the mirror above the sink. Green eyes stared back at him, underlined by black smudges that stood out stark on a too pale face. He looked like shit, he thought morosely, dealing with all Cartman’s crap was going to turn him prematurely grey. Kyle pulled a red curl wistfully. _Yeh, that would be the day_. Before straightening his back, popping another round of Advil and plonking himself down at the desk of his hotel room with his laptop and phone, where he would stay for the next 6 hours.

By the afternoon, Kyle was straining to keep his eyes open against the pounding in his head but he was confident he had contained most of the fallout.

First, he had called Liane to check she was ok. She had assured him that she was just fine and apologised for being the cause of any bad publicity for her little angel. Kyle hired a security team back in South Park anyway to go and intercept any journalists who were sure to be sniffing about for their next exclusive.

Once he was sure she was well protected, he had spoken to every PR contact he had, banning them from contacting Liane and reminding them that if they so much as quoted a word of the article, they would lose access to one of the biggest musicians of the moment.

Last of all were the lawyers, whom he ordered to take legal action against the newspapers who had ran the story. Cartman might be fair game, after all being famous did come with its share of shit being thrown, but attacking his Mom was below the belt whether she had done most of the things they were reporting or not, and Kyle was determined to make them an example to anyone else who so much as thought about dragging a celebrities family into the limelight.

He rubbed his eyes as his phone rang for the bazillionth time. It was Butters, again. Kyle had ignored his last 14 calls, knowing that if he picked up, he’d be dragged into handling whatever tantrum Cartman had thrown when he’d seen the article. Now he was done, he guessed Butters deserved a break. With a sigh, he answered the call.

‘Hey Butters.’

‘Kyle!’ Butters sounded pathetically relieved to hear his voice. ‘Where’ve ya been? Eric has been asking and asking for ya. He’s worked himself up into a right state over the mean things the papers have been saying.’

‘I’ve been sorting everything out, Butters.’ Kyle interjected before Butters could get into a flow. ‘Where is he?’

‘He’s down on the stage. We’ve tried everything to get him to move but nothings workin.’

‘I’m on my way.’ Kyle said resigned.

‘Gee, thanks Kyle. Eric could really do with you being with him right now.’

Kyle harrumphed and hung up before calling a cab and making his way over to the arena. Butters met him inside, pointing him down to the end of the stage where Cartman was sat with his legs hanging over the edge, taking swigs from the bottle of whisky in his hand.

Cartman very rarely got drunk; he took his ‘art’ very seriously and to see him in this state now made Kyle feel slightly guilty for not coming down sooner.

‘Hey.’ Kyle said, sitting down next to him.

‘Sup Jew.’ Cartman said, without looking at him and for a moment Kyle was at a loss how to begin.

‘So I spoke to your Mom and she’s ok. I also talked to our lawyers, they’re gonna tear a new one for any paper who dares to run the story.’ Kyle paused, waiting for the inevitable ‘Jew and lawyer’ joke. When it didn’t come, he felt strangely bereft.

‘They’re right. I turned into her didn’t I?’ Cartman said suddenly, breaking the silence.

‘Who?’ Kyle asked, thrown.

‘My Mom. All the fame and fortune doesn’t make a difference, I’m still a whore.’

‘That’s not right.’ Kyle disagreed vehemently. ‘And even if you do sleep around, so what? You’re living your life the way you want.’

‘But I don’t want to live like this. I hate it.’ Cartman said with a venom that took Kyle aback.

‘Then why do you do it?’ He asked, confused.

Cartman shot him look and Kyle bristled under its silent meaning; _‘Oh poor little Jew, so uptight and pure, he can’t possibly understand.’_

‘Don’t fucking look at me like that.’ Kyle snapped. ‘If you don’t want to talk to me, fine. I’ll leave you to your pity party.’ Kyle made to stand, freezing as Cartman started speaking.

‘My Mom loved my father but she wasn’t good enough for him. So she spent the rest of her life proving it.’

Kyle blinked at the non-sequitur before sinking back into a sitting position.

‘And that’s how you feel?’ He ventured. Cartmans sudden interest in the bottle of whisky was enough of an answer.

Kyle swallowed, fighting down his own wave of anguish at the shock revelation that Cartman was in love. So in love in fact that he was tearing himself apart with the weight of it. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Cartman needed him. They had a show in 7 hours. Then after all that was done and the stage was packed down and the crew packed off to bed, _then_ he could find somewhere nice and quiet to have his breakdown. The thought nearly made him burst into tears but he squashed down the impulse, focusing on Cartman’s face.

‘This might be an obvious question but why don’t you tell them? You’ve never had a problem voicing your feelings before.’ Kyle asked finally. It was a valid question, if one that Kyle didn’t particularly look forward to hearing the answer to.

Cartman scoffed. ‘I’ve tried everything apart from coming out and saying it.’

‘Then maybe you’re just gonna have to man up and say it.’ Kyle said brusquely. ‘They must be pretty dumb if they haven’t caught on. You’re not exactly known for your subtlety.’ Kyle said, unable to stop the cattiness of his words at the thought of this faceless other that had Cartman’s affection and yet was so oblivious they didn’t even know what they had.

Kyle was surprised to see Cartman’s mouth twitch. ‘Yeh, I guess so.’ He agreed.

‘Well, maybe they’re not worth it then. I mean, you’re a superstar, you could have your pick of anyone.’ Kyle cringed inwardly, Christ, any more chirpy and he’d be mistaken for Butters.

‘No, he’s worth it.’ Cartman said and Kyle ignored the stab of pain at the complete certainty in his voice.

‘And even if Liane wasn’t exactly a conventional Mom.’ Kyle continued, hastily changing the subject. ‘You never wanted for anything. It doesn’t matter why or where the money came from. You know, I was so jealous of that Scalextric.’

‘Heheh, yeh you were Jew.’ And Kyle has to smile at the fond expression on Cartman’s face as he remembers tormenting him with it. Asshole.

‘Come on, let’s get you some coffee. The deal is veto if you hurl over the audience.’

Cartman snorted, ‘Typical Jew, anything to get out of a wager.’ But accepted Kyle’s offered hand nonetheless.

‘Whoa, sure you’re not the one who’s drunk?’ Cartman said when Kyle stumbled pulling him up.

‘Fuck, anyone would stumble hauling up your fat ass.’ Kyle shot back automatically, too busy clutching his stomach against the sharp stab of pain and blinking away the black spots that had suddenly invaded his vision.

‘Screw you, Kyle, you fucking Jewrat.’ Cartman bit back, yanking away his arm and storming off.

Kyle took a deep breath, squashing down the beginnings of guilt. Well, at least Cartman was off the stage. He rubbed his eyes to clear the remainder of the fuzz from his head and followed. After all, the show must go on.

Kyle considered the next few hours a personal success on many levels – after a shower and copious amounts of coffee, Cartman was still in a snit but fit to perform, the stage and lighting went up on time, he resolved a minor crisis when one of Butters’ assistants came sprinting up in a blind panic, crying that one of Cartman’s strings had snapped on his guitar (Kyle sent him out to buy a new one and the assistant had looked at him like he’d just revealed the meaning of life) and graciously sent one of the gaffers home sick, despite being on a count down himself until it was all over and he could just curl up a corner and die.

He was sweating. So much so that he had had to change his shirt twice because he couldn’t stand the smell. His stomach felt like someone was twisting it round and round like a child with a balloon animal. He’d taken twice the recommended dose of pills and they weren’t even touching the cramps in his abdomen.

Around 6pm he nearly broke and bailed, but then the Stadium Manager came up to him and told him that one of the lighting rigs contravened health and safety and he had to call the riggers to come back in and move it. They’d only just finished work when the audience came in and then suddenly it was show time.

Kyle didn’t remember much of the opening. By this point he was on autopilot, trying to keep afloat in a haze of pain. It felt like he was being stabbed repeatedly with a red hot poker and Kyle curled inwards against the onslaught. He didn’t even have the energy to react when Cartman did a shout out to all the Jersey boys in the audience from ‘his manager’s home state.’

The lights were too bright. The music too loud. He narrowed his eyes, blinking the sweat from his eyelashes. He thought Cartman might have said something. He’s started to sing.

Kyle smiled in recognition as his brain caught up. This was his favourite song. One of the first songs Cartman wrote when they started out, trailing around from city to city in that clapped out van that Kenny fixed up. They’d broken down. Again. He and Cartman had been at each others throats all evening, stressed out about missing the next gig in LA where there was a chance that a record producer might actually turn up.

Kyle had sat on the curb waiting for the mechanic to show up, his arms clutched around himself against the cold night air, wondering for the thousandth time why the fuck he agreed to do this. The stars were out above him and Kyle remembered looking up at them as he heard the music, a soft melodic tune coming from the back step of the van where Cartman was sat, strumming his guitar. It was melancholy song about hopes and dreams, so different to his usual brassy fair.

Cartman’s written bigger hits since then, ones that have made more money and climbed to the top of the charts. But that song will always be Kyle’s favourite, the one that marked the moment when he truly believed that they would make it.

The world started to blur around the edges. Kyle heard the twang of the guitar as it was dropped to the floor and had just enough time to think it was a shame he wouldn’t get to hear the end of the song before everything went black.

\-----

He came to lying against something warm and solid. Kyle fought the urge to simply burrow into it and go back to sleep because he’s realised that he’s in a bed… and he doesn’t recall inviting anyone to share it.

He opened his gritty eyes and blinked the object into focus. And nearly jumped backwards. Or he would have done if his hand wasn’t currently being held in a death grip. As it is he just about manages to croak out, ‘Cartman! What the fuck are you doing?!’

Cartman jerked as though stung, dragging himself up to sitting before peering blearily at Kyle. Kyle waited patiently for their position to sink in but instead of a look of horror, Cartman smiled. A real smile. Over the years Kyle has become an expert at telling the difference.

‘You’re awake.’ He said and Kyle is just about to make some smart ass remark about stating the obvious when the comment makes him register his surroundings.

He’s in a hospital bed in a private room, his arm hooked up to a drip with a cluster of machines around the bed, flickering softly.

‘What happened?’ Comes out of his mouth instead.

‘You collapsed.’ Cartman answered and Kyle’s eyes flew to the window. It was daylight outside.

‘How long was I out?’ He asked, voice trembling slightly as he turned back to Cartman.

‘5 days. You really freaked everyone out.’

5 days? Kyle feels like he’s been doused with cold water. If it’s been 5 days, then that means…

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuck._

‘Oh my god, Madison Square Gardens! What happened? Did it go ok?!’

‘It didn’t happen.’ Cartman said, looking at him as if he’s gone mad. ‘It couldn’t without you. I told them to stuff it.’

‘What?’ Kyle exclaimed, wincing against the throb in his head at the shrillness of his own voice. ‘Are you fucking kidding me? We worked for months to get that! We’ll never play there now!’

‘Fuck the gig, Kyle. You almost _died_!’ Kyle was struck dumb by Cartman’s vehemence. ‘Your fucking appendix burst! You were in a coma. Jesus Christ, Kyle!’ Cartman dragged the hand that wasn’t still holding Kyle’s through his hair, looking furious and anguished in equal parts.

Kyle stared at him, completely thrown by the outburst. But… Madison Square Gardens. It was the gig they’d dreamed of since they started out. For Cartman to throw that all away… it didn’t make sense.

‘But…it wouldn’t have made any difference if I wasn’t there. You’re the rock star.’ Much as it cost Kyle his pride to admit it, it was true. ‘You could have still gone on. You _should_ have still gone on.’

‘Not without you.’ Cartman said, catching Kyle’s eye and holding it. ‘Never without you.’

The sincerity in his gaze made Kyle’s breath catch. He looked down at his hand still encased in Cartman’s back up to his face, where Cartman had both eyebrows raised pointedly.

Kyle sucked in a breath as realisation crashed over him and Cartman gave him a wry grin.

‘Finally, he’s got it! If all it took was a near death experience then I’d have arranged one for you earlier.’

Kyle’s expression fell into a default disapproving look but if anything the statement cleared any doubt from his mind that Cartman was playing him. It was just so Cartman.

‘You’re an asshole.’ Kyle said, shaking his head as his lips bloomed into a smile.

‘But you love me.’ Cartman said with a smirk. The nervous flick of his eyes noticeable only by Kyle after so many years, gave away the bluff.

‘Yeh I do.’ Kyle said simply. ‘Heaven help me.’

Cartman grinned.  ‘I love you too. Always have.’ And Kyle blinked, suddenly overcome.

 ‘So you decided to man up and say it then.’ He choked to cover it.

‘Haha, nope. You said it first.’ Cartman shot back and Kyle snorted at the irony of their earlier conversation before another memory struck and the smile fell right off his face.

‘Wait a minute, you called me dumb!’ Kyle accused, incredulously.

‘No, you called yourself dumb.’ Cartman pointed out gleefully.

Kyle huffed, yanking his hand out of Cartmans and throwing himself back on the pillows in disgust.

‘Aw is the Jew sulking?’ Cartman mock pouted, reaching for Kyle’s hand again.

‘I am not.’ Kyle protested, moving his hand every time Cartman made a grab for it. ‘Fuck off Cartman!’

‘Aw, don’t be like that Kyle. I love you anyway despite your mental failings.’ Cartman promised, finally catching Kyle’s hand and pulling it to him to peer adoringly over it.

Kyle snorted at the spectacle, his mouth breaking into a reluctant grin. God, he loved this irritating man child.

‘Yeh. I know you do.’ He answered softly and for the first time, he let himself believe it.

\-----

**Epilogue**

Madison Square Gardens.

Kyle gazed out at awe inspiring spectacle laid out in front of him. Even he had to admit, he had outdone himself on this one. The stadium was illuminated in a jaw dropping light show, colours bouncing off the sea of bodies below, voices coming together to count down to the greatest gig on earth.

3, 2, 1!

The stadium erupted, coming alive with the roars of over 20 thousand fans as the lights went up and Cartman appeared on the stage, launching straight into one of his hits.

His eyes sought out Kyle’s just as they had a hundred times before. But this time Kyle allowed himself to feel the love encapsulating every word. It was amazing that in a crowd of thousands, Cartman could make it feel like it was just the two of them.

He grinned, feeling gloriously happy as it hit him that they were _here_. They had made it, against all odds.

Apparently, caring enough for your dying manager to cancel once of the biggest gigs off the decade is a desirable trait in a rock star and the press couldn’t get enough of it. Kyle had left hospital fully prepared to do some major damage control. Salvaging what was left of Cartman’s reputation and by extension, his career, seemed the least he could do given that he was the cause of everything, but he needn’t have worried. The fans were more enamoured than ever with the ‘bad boy with a heart of gold’ image and Square Gardens had agreed to reschedule without Kyle having to dirty his knees begging, once.

Course, his knees would get plenty dirty later… Kyle shivered at the thought, a heat curling in his stomach that was a far cry from the pains of so many weeks ago. He just hoped he had everything. It was just fate that had the gig land on their 3 month anniversary and he wanted the night to be perfect. There was a bottle of champagne on ice back in the dressing room, along with two double chocolate fudge sundaes as penance, since Kyle had inadvertently derailed Cartman’s subsequently confessed attempt at asking him on a date. He blinked as he suddenly realised that he’d forgotten the spoons. Ah well, he smirked. Not like they were going to need them.

As he pulled out his rescued schedule and ticked off the last jobs for the night, he couldn’t resist adding one more…

‘Tell Butters to clear the area around the dressing room door.’

After all, it was Cartman who was going to be screaming tonight.


End file.
